Thorn Deleot
Bogan Crusader
Bogan Crusader
The eight man squad are formed up and waiting in the antechamber, rifles levelled. I have done well to complete my objectives so quickly, but the blast door behind them is closing rapidly, and through the doorway lies my escape. I figure I have seven seconds before it has closed too far to make it through, and eight before everyone aboard is blown into deep space in tiny fragments. Judging by the other blast doors on this ship, cutting through it with my lightsaber will be nigh on impossible. Not to mention trying to override the security lockdown would be a task for a computer genius with ten top of the range hacking droids, neither of which I have access to. I have to make it through before the door closes. As I walk towards them, I fall forwards into a standard offensive stance and flick the switch on the silver and black hilt in my right hand. In one fluid motion I bring the blade up and slice upwards through the heavy duty power cables on my right, before bringing the blade over and down through the cables on my left. Instantly the lights go out and, save for the red blade in my hand, we are plunged into darkness. I extinguish the blade and leap forwards into the darkness and count 'one' in my head.
The Dark Jedi had infiltrated the ship by stowing aboard a supply freighter that had docked with the hulking vessel. It was an otherwise unremarkable day for the Shadow Asylum, a great prison ship playing host to a large number of important and dangerous prisoners, some who were there at the courtesy of the Republic justicial system, and others imprisoned by companies and governments who utilise the services of the independent business the Asylum runs to keep their problems uncatchable and untraceable in the depths of space. At least, that is the theory. Thorn would have guessed nobody had even tried to infiltrate the facility before, let alone do what he had planned.
Flying through the air my elbow connects hard with the foremost of the guards. It crunches sickeningly and breaks as the main grunts in pain. He has enough mettle to pull the trigger, but in the pitch blackness he cannot see me and the shot whips harmlessly down the corridor I have just come from, illuminating it with a red hue as it goes. Unfortunately for me, the rest of the guards take his shot as a signal to open up themselves, although they have much the same problem with their aim that he had. It will be less of a problem once muzzle flashes and bright blaster bolts show all of them exactly where I am though. So as I land, I spin around to the next soldier. He has heard that I am close, but he is nowhere near as fast as I am. As I drop to avoid the blaster shot that is inevitably coming, my left fist lashes out in an uppercut, connecting just under his ribs, winding him and sending him flailing backwards onto the floor. I needn't have ducked, his shot releases as he is falling and blasts into the ceiling. The damage is not serious enough to compromise the hull's integrity, but the red flash has definitely illuminated me. 'Two.'
Thorn's brief from his superiors was simple enough. He needed to remove a problem who dwelt in cell block H, a captive Dark Jedi who had struck a deal to exchange his sentence for information. Thorn had to eliminate the traitor with all due haste. Easier said than done, but Thorn was good at his job. His task was complicated somewhat by the fact the prison also played host to a number of highly valued criminals, both captive Hutt personnel, and dangerous criminals. The Hutts wanted the Dark Jedi to pave the way for a future mass jailbreak. The Dark Jedi were far more concerned about their blabber. Thorn had a plan that suited his masters, but should also keep the Hutts happy enough with the job. Infiltrate the Asylum, gain access to the security mainframe, lockdown cell block H, open all other blocks and hit the evacuation alarm. Set the ship's life support to deactivate a few minutes later, and the reactor core to self destruct shortly after that. From there it was easy, he just needed to get to block H and finish off the traitor himself, and then get out, amidst the chaos that was sure to ensue with how ever many hundreds of then-loose prisoners scrambling to the lifeboats.
As the shot hit the ceiling, they saw me. It dissipated quickly and I pounced, head first at the nearest of the six remaining men. The others' shots fire at where I had been a moment before. I clatter into him and we both tumble to the ground, my forearms crossed over his throat. As we hit the deck his windpipe cracks. I am moving fast enough that after each illuminating shot is fired, or after every noise I make in taking one of them out of the skirmish, I have moved again by the time they aim and fire the next shot. I'm averaging a man a second, which is good, but not good enough if I plan to escape. Using what little momentum I have, I spring up, underneath the next guard. My left hand clasps onto his right and my right, still clutching my extinguished lightsaber, comes up strongly and forces his rifle upwards, the muzzle hits him in the neck hard, and I squeeze his right hand so he fires three shots through his own head. 'Three.'
To infiltrate the ship, Thorn had used a personality he had worked with before, a smuggler and competent pilot. It had not been difficult for her to be added to the manifesto of the cargo ship as part of the piloting staff. Dangerous flights like this, especially in war time, were far from popular amongst crew for hire and anybody keen enough to apply for such a job almost certainly got it. Not to mention the supply ship came from a company that required nowhere near the kind of background checks that the Asylum's direct employees had to undergo. Once she was in, she needed to get Thorn in. Bypassing the security at the depot was far from complicated, and with her information he managed to stow himself in the hold amongst the food and living supplies the Asylum required. The journey to deep space was relatively long, but once they had docked with the ship Thorn had simply waited to be unloaded into the prison and from there he was good to go. His companion had the simple task of keeping their escape route, the cargo ship (or, more accurately a fast, two person shuttle in the launch bay of the cargo hauler) docked with the prison. Which itself was easy, the pilots and crew, as was usual, were fed and watered as part of their stop over, before a maintenance check on their ship was conducted. Even if their stop over was scheduled for half the time they were going to be there, Thorn had plenty of time to complete his mission.
I am finished with stealth. With half of them down I can afford to be seen now. I flick my lightsaber on and spin around in a low arc that bisects the fifth attacker at the hip. He falls to the ground coughing and groaning. I have no time to waste. From my inside foot I push off to the next man, keeping low and bringing my waiting lightsaber up through his arms. His rifle, with his hands and forarms still clutching the trigger and fore grips, clatters to the floor. 'Four.'
The initial phases went according to plan. Even dressed as he was, in black, his sleeveless leather top, hood raised, and black cuffs and fingerless gloves framing his paler arms. His face too was covered, black material raised to above his nose, his eyes an odd yellowy colour burning out from the shadowy depths. He was conspicuous, walking about the ship, but he was a capable killer and user of the force to dismiss any problems he encountered. Within minutes he had made it to the mainframe and had begun setting the ship to suit his needs. Before long he was on his way to the now tightly locked cell block H.
The last two men standing waste no time in aiming at the now visible me. My left hand flies up and I grasp one around the throat with the force. My right hand holds my lightsaber up, ready for the opening shots from the other man, which I delfect away, one into the chest of the choking man who is now floating eerily in midair, lit only by the iridescent red hue of my lightsaber, and the occasional flash from the other man's blaster. His last breath escapes his lips and I send him crashing into his partner. They fall to the ground in a heap. 'Five.'
Thorn was encountered by an odd sight when he entered the cell in which his target was incarcerated. It was a Dark Jedi he knew very well, someone who had often been around the temple as he was growing up. A few years older then him, and beautiful, she had held Thorn's respect since she had first mispronounced his name on a message she had brought over ten years before. He remembered the way she had tentatively said "Thorn Deleot", as though he was named for a part of a plant. He had corrected her instantly, ever confident as a child, often in situations that made him come across as disrespectful or rude, not that it had been his naive intent. "It's pronounced 'Torn Del-ay-oh'." His masters had not informed him of this. Maybe it was a test of character and loyalty. Or perhaps it was a coincidence.
I stride over the body, the man still alive underneath his comrade's corpse. I casually flick my wrist and my red blade slices through his neck and step passed, crouching through the blast door onto the cargo ship. I break into a run, flicking my lightsaber off as I make with best speed towards the landing bay upon the other side of the main hold. It is not a far distance, but I still have to run fast to cover the floor in the short time I have left. 'Six.'
She looked at Thorn, recognising him in an instant. If she wanted to beg for mercy, or try to plead for her life, she showed great restraint. No fear was in her eyes, or sorrow in her gaze as Thorn drew his blade. If anything, she looked relieved to see him. Perhaps she thought he was here on a rescue mission? The young crusader knew better than to double cross his masters though. Although she had held his respect once, bartering for freedom by betraying her brethren made her unworthy of the life she led. Stoically awaiting death, she broke her silence, not with panic or worry, but a simple phrase of apology, sincere regret, but not laced with the tones of someone trying to barter their life from the executioner.
I make it to the bay and skid up the landing ramp of the shuttle. My pilot is waiting in the cockpit of the small shuttle, but she does not turn around as I come in. She sets the ship from idling into take off mode and the engines roar. She does not wait for my shout of "Move," and I elbow the large button next to me to retract the landing gear and slam the door shut behind me. 'Seven,' and the blast door closes on the other side of the ship.
Whatever she had hoped to achieve with her apology, mercy did not stay Thorn's hand. His blade sliced through her neck without an ounce of sympathy in his veins. He was silent as he committed the act, not even acknowledging her words. She had betrayed him, her masters and her students. Sorry did not cut it. Unless her crimes had been exaggerated. And she had planted the seed of mistrust deep in Thorn's mind. Could he be sure this was not to test his personal loyalty, to pitch one follower against another and see if loyalty to the Bogan outweighed personal friendships? He banished the thought from his mind and focused on the task at hand. He needed to leave, quickly. But her dying act had been to slightly, gently suggest Thorn was being used, and it was a thought that would come back to him when he thought he was safe, his mission completed.
I breathe heavily as I walk the short distance to the co pilot's chair, adjacent to the pilot's, sitting down and exhaling deeply. While not completely trusting anybody, the woman who sits next to hme was reliable enough for me not to have to worry about killing her before she could share the secrets of our exploits with anybody who would listen. She had been paid well, had worked with me before and knew the consequences of betraying someone like me. Not that she really knew anything, I had not even told her the group of which I was a part. For all she knew I was a pissed off Jedi who'd gone rogue. The ship lifts off and bursts out of the landing bay, wasting little time in putting distance between the prison ship. 'Eight,' and the reactor has gone critical. The explosions happen, lighting up the dark space around them and swallowing up a few of the life boats that had not left in time. My ship does not hang around, and we burst into hyperspace not to reappear until we are far, far away.
